The Traitor (Final Part)

Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):

Non-consent, corporal punishment, spanking, dress-up humiliation, captivity, bondage

The townsfolk were intrigued as Figg, the carpenter, disappeared into his workshop. Beatrice, her shaved head wrapped in a dripping grey cloth, shivered as she awaited her fate.

Figg emerged with a curious object. It looked like a leather headcollar, with several fixture points. He brought a cloth bag containing various wooden objects as well.

“The Madame who asked for this mainly wanted it for the gents,” he chuckled. “They get a lot of lords and earls wanting to be taken down a peg or two. Some of the stories she related made my hair curl! Anyhow, I believe it’ll work just as well for a woman.”

Beatrice tensed, unsure what was coming.

“We’ll need to fix her in place,” said Figg.

“To the stocks, then!” called Clover, and they hoiked the captive up onto her feet. “Come on, Goblin!”

Beatrice hissed at her and elbowed the men at her sides, but she couldn’t stop them marching her to the wooden frame in the centre of the town.

“Wait until the King hears how you have treated one of his nobles!” she spat. “He’ll have you flogged! And you! And all of your wives will be sentenced to service the army as whores!”  

Her outburst only served to dissolve the crowd into fits of laughter once again.

“Dear me, Lady Devereaux! You do go on, do you?” said Figg. “Well, this should occupy that mouth of yours.”

Beatrice was locked into the stocks, unable to free herself, no matter how she wriggled. Figg slipped the headcollar over her cloth-covered head. Two metal loops were prodded into her mouth – one at either side – and the straps around her head tightened. This pulled her mouth open in a most undignified way.

Beatrice tried to complain and curse but could not make any intelligible words. Instead she found herself dribbling down her front.

“How ladylike!” chuckled Annie from the pub doorway, and Beatrice glowered at her.

Figg proceeded to rig up a tube, running it from the well to a smaller frame by Beatrice’s head.

“Now,” he explained. “Your Ladyship may find that having her mouth held open leaves her rather thirsty. And since you’re too accustomed to comfort to walk and fetch water like a servant, this apparatus is here for your convenience. It’s very simple. Whenever you would like a drink, you simply have to place your mouth onto the requisite part and suck.”

Beatrice eyed him with suspicion.

“And this,” said Figg, “is the part you’ll need to suck on.”

Lady Devereaux’s eyes widened in disgust as he fastened a large wooden phallus onto the end of the tube.

“MMPHHH!” she protested.

“Oh yes,” said Figg. “And since we wouldn’t want you to go thirsty when we leave you here for hours on end, we’ll need to make sure it works. So you will test it now, please, while we all watch. Unless you’d like Randall to whip you again?”

Beatrice’s eyes filled with hot, angry tears as the crowd gathered.

“Go on!”

“Let’s see her earn her drink like a good girl!”

Randall strode forward, slapping his crop against his hand, and the captive girl flinched. She leaned forward, wincing, and felt the wooden phallus enter and fill her mouth.

“Go on…” said Randall. “Refresh yourself if you don’t want your bottom bared again…”

Mortified, Beatrice began to suck on the wooden cock, as a dribble of water made its way up the tube and into her parched mouth. The crowd whooped in amusement.

“Sucks like a tuppenny street girl, doesn’t she?”

“Keen little mouth, you’ve got, Lady Devereaux. Good girl!”

“Hooo! Always said the only difference between a lady and a whore was the pay grade!”

Eventually, Beatrice sat back, blushing and exhausted but quenched, trickles of water running down her chin. The crowd congratulated Figg on his invention.

“Oh, one more thing,” said the carpenter, digging into the bag once more. He pulled out another phallus, this one flanked by neat leather straps.

“Your little performance reminded me of another commission from the Madame” he said. “I think you might enjoy this one.”

He nodded to two of the men to lift Beatrice’s bottom off the wooden seat and peel back her skirts. Beatrice sobbed as her rump was once again revealed, with its pink stripes. But she was not to be flogged this time. Instead, she gasped as her cunt was filled with a thick wooden phallus. The straps were fastened around her thighs and locked in place. She was lowered back down and gasped again, panting as the wooden seat drove the cock further inside her.

“Oh, she likes that, the little slut!” whooped one of the women, and Beatrice was struck silent with embarrassment. The cock was already making her wet, and every tiny movement caused it to rub against her. She drooled into her metal gag and closed her eyes.

“I think we should leave her for now to…think about what she’s done,” said Anna, smiling. “Oh, but I imagine you’re hungry, Lady Devereaux?”

Beatrice said nothing, but her stomach rumbled.

“Bring our guest her dinner!” shouted Anna.

To her dismay, Beatrice saw not a plate of meat and vegetables, nor a stew, but a bucket being brought toward her. She squirmed, which made the cock inside her move. Panting in confusion, she squinted at what was being offered.

“MMMPH!” she protested.

“Now, now, “ said the swinekeeper. “Be a good little sow and eat your swill! If it’s good enough for the pigs, it’ll do you.”

“MMMPHHH!” bayed Beatrice, trying to turn her face away, but she was powerless to stop the man scooping up the grey swill, filled with vegetable peelings and mush, and shoving it into her mouth.

It was horrible! Horrible! More and more swill was forced into her, each dollop more foul than the last. The mess ran down her gown as she cried and wriggled, panting as the dildo chafed her.

“Seems a shame to ruin her fine gown, doesn’t it?” said Clover. “A beast like her doesn’t much need a gown anyway.”

“It does seem a pity,” said Anna, and gestured to the farrier’s son, who whipped out a pocket knife and cut the silk from Beatrice’s body. He did the same to her underthings, until she was stark naked but for the leather straps keeping her dildo in place.

“Bring her something a little more fitting,” said Anna. “Any stained or stinking rags you have, any clothes too worn to repair. We don’t want our dear lady to freeze in the stocks.”

“I think she wishes to say something,” said Clover.

Anna nodded and the gag was removed.

“No more!” cried Beatrice, swill spattering from her mouth. “Please! No more! Whatever you want, take it!”

“Very well,” said Anna. “If you would end your punishment, you must agree to our demands.”

“W-what are they?” shivered Beatrice, goosepimples all over her body.

“You will sign over your inherited lands to Carbaston.”

“No! They’re mine!”

No sooner had she wailed her claim than her nose was held and fresh ladles of swill heaped into her mouth. As her mouth was stuffed, Beatrice felt her haunches being lifted into position and a leather strap bit down into her bruised skin.


“GlubbNOOOOughhhhNOOO!” she sobbed, choking on the food as she gasped from the spanking. She thrashed so hard the grey cloth worked itself loose, showing her shaved head once again to the crowd.

“We can stop your punishment at any time, Beatrice,” said Anna calmly.

“URGGGHHHH!” bawled Beatrice, spraying food left and right as her bottom was scored.

“Make the wise choice and you may remain here in peace,” she said to Beatrice. “You may make a life here, and in time you may receive forgiveness but you will give us your Lord’s signet, and you must never again write as Lady Devereaux. Should you tell the Crown of the rebellion, the entire royal court will learn what you have done. I believe we can paint quite the picture.”

“UUURGGHHHH!” cried Beatrice, giving in. “Vrrrr wrrr! Vrrr wrrrrr! Nrr mrrr!!!!”

The spoon paused before her mouth as Lady Devereaux spat out clods of grey swill, her eyes streaming at the foul stench.

“Very well!” she was finally able to say. “No more! No more…”

“Release her,” said Anna.

The young men nodded and loosened the captive’s bonds.

The ravaged girl was untied from the stocks and wobbled to her feet.

“Where is the signet?” asked Anna.

“M-my Lord’s left pocket,” stammered the captive. “Go to his body. Oh, oh, now I am sorry for all I have done!”

For once in her life, Beatrice had told the truth. One of the publican’s daughters ran to Lord Devereaux’s corpse, dug in the rich fabric of his coat and held up the ring in triumph. Tears of relief ran down Anna’s face.

The naked, shorn Beatrice, her mouth smeared with muck,. Her cunt throbbed and her mouth ached.

“Give her some rags with which to make a dress. Give her a jug of milk and a piece of bread.”

Beatrice fell upon the food and drink, trying to banish the rotten taste from her tongue.

As the former Lady Devereaux nodded in shame, her soaked cunt rubbed against its occupant, and she amused the crowd one last time, gasping and shaking in embarrassed pleasure.

“Ah, I suppose we should take that device off her,” grinned Anna. “Though it has been entertaining. Still, she’ll encounter it again where she’s going.”

Beatrice looked up warily, milk around her mouth.

“Oh yes,” said Anna. “We believe in second chances, Beatrice. The Madame at the Red Candle House believes you quite a prize. She’s willing to trade back all of the Carbaston girls you had sent to her, in exchange for your energetic hide.”

“No…” Beatrice shook her head, wide-eyed. “No no no…”

“Oh aye,” added Randall. “They’ll be lining up to see what Lady Devereaux is like on all fours…”

Carbaston once more adopted self-rule, and flourished in its rediscovered freedoms. Letters from ‘Lord Devereaux’ were sent to the Crown, relinquishing all rights to the people, and commenting on the peaceful and prosperous nature of the region. Anna became the town’s first female elder, and helped resolve disputes in many thorny cases.

Beatrice Devereaux, née Streeter, who had sold out and tormented her peers for so long, became the star attraction at the Red Candle, with many paying handsomely to strip her and deal out a hearty punishment. Some had been subject to her tyranny in the past. Others just enjoyed seeing an indignant young brat whine and wriggle before their whip.

Occasionally, pinned over some customer’s lap while they spanked and jiggled her, she would wail that she was Lady Devereaux and that the King would hear of this.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” the customer would chuckle. “The whole county can already hear you!”


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